


A yearly confessional

by nattycakes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bees, Character Death, F/M, I can't help it, M/M, Pining, Retirement, Sorrow, Sussex, passive, squint and you see johnlock, the confessions of sherlock holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:44:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nattycakes/pseuds/nattycakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are old men, old men who now keep bees. When Sherlock has passed away, John finally starts to clean out Sherlock's room, and finds a little beaten brown leather journal and decides to glance at it. Mary has passed, and their daughter long since moved out, John feels suddenly very alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A yearly confessional

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Painless_papercuts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Painless_papercuts/gifts).



> This was written for my darling Lily, who gave me the prompt "A Confession." I fretted over this so much, I almost called this little drabble the fret. I could not make it work with Sherlock still alive, and I could not make it work for John if Mary was. I attempted to write a full on smut fic, and that didn't work. I then attempted to write a potterlock that didn't work. This felt right, but sad. So very sad. I adore you my Lily, and soon I will write a funny, porny, Top!John.
> 
> As usual, no beta, or britpick.

~~The Journal of Sherlock Holmes.~~

~~Sherlock Holmes’ journal.~~

Yearly confessions of Sherlock Holmes

There it was, in Sherlock’s scrawling untidy script. It lilted a bit to the right, and looked a bit rushed. Sherlock was not one for using writing things down. There were hundreds, maybe a thousand USB sticks laying about the cottage. Mixed with years worth of case studies, and notebooks from before John knew him, but since the laptop and the Iphone, Sherlock didn’t write things down, he typed it. 

John was surprised. Sherlock had retired to the cabin years before to keep bees. “They’re utterly fascinating John. When a new Queen is born, the workers and the drones follow her, and leave the other to die. I can control the flavor of the honey, I can control the color of the honey just with a change of pollen.” 

Far be it from John to make Sherlock stray from a path that was not self-destructive. Sherlock was an old man now, and John was an even older man. Sherlock was keen as ever before he passed. Sharp, quick, and clever he showed no signs of illness. Then again, John mused, you never did realise with Sherlock until it was too late. 

Mary had passed a few years before, and John had moved back in with Sherlock after a fortnight and realised that in his life, he missed Sherlock’s well, he had deeply missed Sherlock. He held his friend’s hand in the end, and spread his ashes among his bees. 

In the years he lived with Sherlock as an old man, he still respected Sherlock’s privacy where Sherlock did not respect his own. It was only while he was cleaning out the bedside table where he found the journal. It was a plain brown leather. Old, but not as old as the notebooks. The spine was completely broken, and the pages had yellowed. 

He looked back down on the front page, and the scrawl that could belong to no other. 

“The yearly confessions of Sherlock Holmes

 

John told me he keeps a blog about what (doesn’t) happen in his life, and now our cases. I have a blog too, which might I add, is vastly more important. My blog allows for the regular mundane person to find the best chinese food in town, and John’s has bad puns and I am not sure why he insist on writing it, it’s a complete waste of time. However, I have seen the need for privacy, it’s an experiment if you will, my confessions. I will pick one a year and write it down on the page, on the last day of every year. In the end of my life, I will attempt to see if any of this makes a difference. It won’t but I’m very bored. Hopefully I’ll get bored with this as well and forget it’s existence. 

However, here is this year. When I first met John I explained to him I was married to my work. I did not explain further, and let the moment drop. I wish he had not shut that conversation down completely. John became part of my work just as much as a locked room suicide. Therefore, I am married to John. Dec 31st 2010.”

John took several deep breaths. He forced himself to stare at his hands and realise that he did infact read Sherlock’s confession correctly (re-reading it several times in fact.) and that Sherlock had mentally married John. He was an old man now, no reason to get the heart pumping fast, there’s nothing he could do about it now, he vowed he wouldn’t read the rest of them. That would be self-destructive. He had a great life with Mary, and they raised (well with Sherlock’s help) Mina to be an amazing woman, who had little ones of her own now. What John read wouldn’t change how he felt about his friend. His closest friend. 

In his mind, he knew Sherlock as well as anyone could. Him the best surely, maybe Mina. Sherlock had adored Mina. From a very early age Sherlock would hold her little hand and take her to the park. They would draw water from puddles and look at them through microscopes together. In his mind, Mina was just as much Sherlock’s as his. Mary had been the one to bring up Sherlock being made guardian if anything were to ever happen. John signed without a second thought. He attempted to tell him actually, but was cut off with a huff. “Really John? I don’t think I would be very good at it. I would likely forget she needs food.” 

“She’ll yell, loudly. Louder than you when you’re in a sulk.”

That’s all that was ever said about it. It was never needed of course, but since that moment, Sherlock made sure Mina never want for nothing. He refused the title Uncle, and when Mina couldn’t say Sherlock, became as comfortable as possible with Locks. Then with time, his eyes softened when he heard Mina’s little voice. 

“Locks, I got into Cambridge!” 

“Of course you would.” with a hint of a smile. 

John paused, the memory warming him. Comforting him. He decided to keep reading, not all at once mind you, he wasn’t sure he could handle that, but he could handle a few. 

“I refuse to let anyone know how much being called The Virgin bothers me, and how much The Woman astounds me. Dec 31st 2011”

That confession did not surprise John in the least. She at the very least confused everyone, and played the game very well. Well her game at least, more than likely she’s long gone now. There was a dried rose that fell out of the journal, he had a clue that they had somehow kept in touch. 

He skipped through a few years, he didn’t want to know what the confessions where when Sherlock was gone, or when he got married, and found a few amusing ones. 

“I should have checked to see if Ms Hudson was still in the room when I told Mycroft I did not like custard cremes. I was trying to hide them from him. I won’t be seen as a liar, but I’ll forever regret losing my favorite biscuit. Dec 31 2017”.

“Upon exhausting all research, I do not think I will be able to leave my brain behind when I die as to help the future people of London. What a shame for them. Dec 31 2025”.

Some touching ones;

“I should have told Mina how proud I was of her more often before she left for University. I think that she knows, but I fear she does not know how much. Dec 31 2034”.

“I held my Grandson Holmes for the first time this year, which I fear will not be near enough time with him. Dec 31 2040”,

And the one that broke his heart. 

“My dearest John, if you were to find this, please know that I would not have changed my life. I would have not been able to give you the life you had with Mary or with Mina, and with Holmes. I have done my best for you with what abilities I have. I have loved you in my own way since that first dinner and your giggling over a crime scene. I will miss you, but our adventures made a life worth living for me, and was only very rarely dull. May 4 2048”.

John set the journal down on the pillow, and left the room. One day he would he would finish the confession. One day he would even muster up the courage to see what was living under the bed frame (he was pretty sure it had scales.) He would even take care of the bees until he longer could do so. 

He missed his closest friend dearly in that moment, but would not change his adventures either. That, he thought, would be rather dull of him indeed.


End file.
